Snapshots
by Reya Levith
Summary: Collection of one-shots inspired by prompts given by the 100 Prompts Challenge. Some prompts might be excluded as I could be linking the prompts to other fanfictions as well. Enjoy.
1. 1 Introduction

_(A.N): Been working on a 100 prompts challenge for a while now, but purely for my own plots. Then I realized that the prompts I was getting somehow related to Sherlock (let's face it, EVERYTHING relates to Sherlock) so I'm now going to try a 100 prompt challenge for fanfiction itself. Most of it will be Sherlock, because it's the easiest to relate to, but I might post spin-off thingamajigs that are of other fanfictions, so if you me skip a number, don't panic, I've probably got it as a separate story. Wish me luck! I'm not sure if this will go over well, but I'm going to try anyway._

_Disclaimer: I am 100% sure I own Sherlock in some parallel universe. I know I do. _

1. Introduction

The day Mike Stamford met the charismatic consulting detective know as Sherlock Holmes, no lightning flashed from the sky to mark the momentously boring event. He didn't give his new colleague any more thought than a new acquaintance warranted.

"Sherlock Holmes," the young raven-haired man introduced formally, his suit well-ironed and his crystalline blue eyes sharp as he scrutinized Mike, who opened his mouth to reply. About to make an introduction of his own, he was interrupted by Sherlock. "You are Mike Stamford, obviously, and you've been working here for quite a while, although not always as a lecturer. Clearly you also enjoy your job." He cast an eye over the worktable for less than a second before continuing his monologue. "Your work is very well organized. How do you get things done?" he asked, mildly curious, though no sooner did the words leave his lips was he striding away. His long, stork-like legs were elegantly clad in expensive trousers that were most probably tailored.

Needless to say, Mike was confused. It would become a regular state of mind around the young man.

"How did you-how did you know all that?" he demanded, rather weakly, unnerved by the matter-of-fact quality with which this man in his late twenties had made his statements. This was certainly new. How could he possibly have known?

Irritatingly, all Sherlock deigned to do by way of reply was a glance at Mike sideways, with a hint of a secretively sarcastic smile. Then he focused on whatever he had been observing on his microscope and was soon submerged in the intricacies of his work. An elephant could have come into the room, and Sherlock would not have cared one whit.

Well, he _might_ have tried to shoo it away with one hand, never taking his eyes from the microscope.

Mike knew instinctively that he wasn't getting anything else out of this intriguingly eccentric man, having experienced such blatant ignorance in students in his time. He was about to engulf himself in his own work when Molly Hooper slipped in, even more nervous and twitchy than usual. She quivered anxiously up to Sherlock, fidgeting like a child caught with a cookie from the forbidden cookie jar. And she hadn't even opened her mouth yet, poor thing.

"Um, the results-the results of your experiment-on the-the body downstairs-um, they-I have them here," she stuttered hopelessly, standing a full three feet apart from Sherlock as if afraid she would faint outright from such closeness. In her hands she clutched a sheaf of papers tight, much too panicky to offer them to the taller, mysterious man. Sherlock was obviously not making things any easier by ignoring her, either. Mike couldn't quite tell if it was because he was truly engrossed in his experiment, or was simply enjoying making poor Molly (who never was good with conversation in the first place) twitchier than a rabbit with a heart attack. He was sure that it was probably the kind of thing this particular raven-haired, blue-eyed man would do, and do with pleasure.

When Sherlock finally decided to look up in the face of the heartiest silence Mike had ever experienced, it was with an oblivious pair of doe-eyes that baked Molly's heart perfectly, if her wide-eyed stare and flushing cheeks were anything to go by.

"Ah, the results, thank you, er, Molly," Sherlock said offhandedly, taking them from her with a long reach of his arm and placing them beside him, already receding back into his experiment. Molly made no movement whatsoever, still shell-shocked that he had actually thanked her, talked to her. When Sherlock realized that she was still hovering around in his vicinity, he looked up and sent her a practiced smile that basically screamed '_evaporate, would you?_'. Mike winced at the forced quality of the smile that was every bit deliberate and ruthlessly tactless.

It was that moment then, Mike later realized, that had been one of the most important moments of his life, ever. Granted, it had been subtle, a shifting of the light that completely threw the shadows into drastically different shapes. But it was in that moment that would later lead Mike Stamford to introducing his old friend John Watson to the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes, and spark off events that would shake England down to the foundations.


	2. 2 Love

_(A.N): Only the second instalment and I was already stuck, but can you blame me? Love in the Sherlock Universe is complicated at best, though beautiful in all its forms. I'm not quite sure I did the complexity of the theme in the context given quite the justice it demanded, but I'm satisfied with the result and pretty sure that that's as good as it gets, people. Enjoy. It's very short, but I had not the slightest idea how to expand, and I was scared I'd make a blotch of it._

_Disclaimer: I am 100% sure I own Sherlock in some parallel universe. I know I do._

2. Love

Sherlock Holmes could tell you everything about your life (and possibly your wife's too, or even your cat's) and act as if it was completely normal to have a random stranger spout facts about what you had for dinner yesterday.

But bring up the topic 'love' and the world's most infuriating detective would retreat behind a highly disdainful look and a pair of bored blue eyes. He would become decidedly sarcastic, a touchy mouse that bit at every finger of attempted conversation that deign stick itself near his mouse hole.

"I find relationships flat and disgusting in the most profound manner," he haughtily told John when his flatmate had quietly admonished him for insulting yet another 'boring' client, who had pleaded with him to enquire into her husband's frequent overseas trips, and if they were just excuses to see his mistress, if he had one. After telling the unfortunate woman that he didn't care to 'enquire into' the affair and to get herself a backbone, or at least better taste in scarves, Sherlock had turned his back on her and declared 'boring!' in his low clear voice. This signaled the end of the discussion and Sherlock was not going to listen any further to this client, which John tiredly informed the distraught lady and showed her the door in the most gentle manner he could manage, being inwardly bored with the woman as well. John's overused expression of exasperation quickly turned into a suppressed look of amusement at the face Sherlock made in accompaniment to his grand statement.

Yet, many people (and even more newspapers) simply lapped up the thought that the two bachelors who shared a flat were in fact a couple. How did this combat the fact that anyone who came in his vicinity during an investigation or simply while he was visiting his 'mind palace' would be subject to hearing Sherlock's cold as ice and twice as biting conclusions to each scenario he was presented? How did that weigh up to the sarcastically chilly atmosphere he exuded like a complimentary accessory to his long velvet coat?

"I've been informed that I don't have one," Sherlock had once declared matter-of-factly, with raised brows, on the subject of having his heart 'burned out of him'.

Moriarty didn't agree. After all, it was his genius move to tie John Watson up with a bomb and point lasers at him, and he'd be damned if this didn't make Holmes Jr. quake in his well-polished shoes. "Oh, but we both know that's not quite true," he prompted.

Sherlock had never answered that statement. Maybe that was a good thing.

But it didn't particularly answer the unfathomable question: Did Sherlock have a heart?

Perhaps we should just put it this way; Sherlock Holmes has the biggest heart of any human, but doesn't have the slightest idea about what to do with it.

Perhaps that is the answer to the great question.


End file.
